by JEFF MOTES
“Do you want us to kill those evil bastards, or do you want us to get killed?”
“I’ll be quiet, I promise.”
“If you go, it will only distract us from doing what we need to do. Please stay at the truck. I’ll leave an extra radio for you. You’ll be able to hear us and talk to us if you need to. I’ll call you and let you know when we need you to come to us. Lynn, we will need your help, but not until I call for you.”
She lowers her head. “All right, John. I’ll wait at the truck, but please call me as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
Ryan pulls the truck off the main onto a woods trail and backs in among the trees. We dismount and gather.
The sound of gunfire fills the air. I want to race to the camp, but I force myself to remain calm.
“Based on how Lynn says the camp is set up, I think we should approach through the woods on the left side of the road. We’ll stop at the tree line and reassess when we actually see what we’re up against.” I point to the ground. “We can tell from the bike tracks there are quite a few bikers up there. We won’t know how many until we get there. Guys, this could get real nasty, real soon. Are you up to it?”
I look them both in the eyes.
Ryan nods curtly. “Let’s do it, John. I’m good.”
“Me too, man. I’m good,” Ted says.
We move quickly and stealthily into the woods. The sounds of gunfire have ceased.
The underbrush isn’t too thick in this area since the trees are quite large and block direct sunlight from the forest floor. We’re able to cover the remaining quarter mile in a few minutes. We take cover behind a large downed old oak tree. The camp is about seventy-five yards from the tree line, and the front is facing directly at us. The drive comes into the right side of the camp. A yellow Jeep is parked near the house, both rear tires flat. Parked all around are about a dozen motorcycles. One man is lying on the ground staring up at the sky. I can’t tell who it is or if he’s been shot. Seven men are standing around looking in all directions. Not seven men, but five. Two of the seven are women. They must be gang whores, since the only tops they are wearing are of a fishnet material. The men don’t seem to be paying much attention. Their guns are hanging down, none at the ready. Mike must be right; they don’t have any tactical training at all. Ryan and Ted are scanning the area as well.
“They don’t seem to be very alert,” says Ryan. “They’re looking around, but it’s fast, as if they’re only going through the motions.”
“I haven’t seen Will, Lizzy, or the Hickmans yet,” I say. “There are too many bikes for the people we see. There must be more of them around here somewhere. They might be inside, or they could be in the tree line. Ryan, move to the left about twenty-five yards or until you can see the left side of the house. Ted, you do the same to the right. Since I have the suppressed weapon, I’ll initiate contact. Don’t fire until you see them react to my location. Guys, if we have to shoot, make damn sure of your targets. We have friendlies down there, too. Don’t take any chances on close shots.”
“Moving left,” Ryan says.
“Move.”
“Moving right,” Ted says.
“Move.”
In a few minutes, Ryan checks in on the radio. “Maverick set. No activity on left side. I still have a clear view of the front.”
“Goose set,” Ted reports. “One bastard at the bikes right side. I still have view of the front.”
“Hold positions and let’s wait,” I respond.
I twist the magnification of the Primary Arms optic up to 6X and scan the guy on the ground. He’s not dressed like any of the bikers, and he’s definitely dead.
My rifle is sighted in for a hundred yards. It’s not that far to the cabin, but it’s close enough I shouldn’t need to make any adjustments to my point of aim. Then screams come from inside. My heart racing, I try to analyze different scenarios and plans in my mind. Although we need more time and more men, we don’t have either. The front screen door is opened, and a screaming woman is dragged out. It’s Tom’s wife, Sue. I’ve met her before. A man drags her down the stairs by her hair and drops her to the ground next to the biker women. The two female bikers start kicking her, laughing the whole time. The next out the door is Tom, being dragged by two men. His shirt is bloody. Looks like he’s been shot. They drop him by Sue. She crawls to him. Next out the door is a big woman dressed like the other whores. She has a handful of Lizzy’s hair in her left hand and a handful of Heather’s hair in her right. At least I think it’s Heather Hickman; it’s hard to tell, and I don’t know her well. She pulls the girls into the yard. Following behind is another man carrying a young dark-haired girl who must be Amy. A big man walks out the door. His head is bald, and his arms and neck are covered in tattoos. He’s pointing and saying something, though he’s too far away for me to make out his words. Two more bikers come out; one has Will in a chokehold. The reticle of my scope is on the bastard’s head, but they’re too close and moving too much to take a shot. At the steps, he throws Will down to the ground. Another bastard grabs Will by the hair, drags him over to the girls, and stands him up. The big female biker is still holding Lizzy and Heather by their hair. The guy holding Amy drops to the ground, groping her.
The big bastard walks over to Will and starts pointing his finger in his face. I’m watching him intently through the optic. The reticle is following his every movement.
I key the mic. “All right guys, stand by. Watch your targets. Wait for my command. Confirm.”
“Maverick, confirms. Waiting for your command.”
“Goose confirms. Waiting for your command.”
The big guy starts screaming, and I can make his words out clearly now.
“Where is your father!”
I can’t hear Will’s response, but it’s obviously not what the big bastard wanted to hear, since he slaps Will hard the face. It is only with great restraint I refrain from pulling the trigger. They are just too close to each other, and the risk is too great. If I see a raised knife or aimed gun, I’ll take the shot, but not until then, unless some other opportunity arises.
I call on the radio. “Steady, guys. Steady. Let’s wait for an opportunity. Have your targets picked out.”
The big bastard screams again. “Boy, if you don’t tell me where I can find him, your friends here are going to suffer. We’ll start with that old bitch over there and this sweet thing already on the ground. Then we’ll take care of these other two.”
“Strip that woman down, boys. Get ready to provide young Mr. Carter here with some entertainment!”
The biker whores start stripping Sue’s clothes off. She struggles with them to no avail. Four of the bastards have laid down their weapons and are walking over toward her. Another has dropped down to the ground next to Amy as she struggles to keep her clothes on. This is the opportunity we needed. There are now only three bastards holding rifles.
I call into the radio, “Start firing after my first shot. Watch your targets. Confirm.”
“Maverick confirms. Will initiate firing upon your first shot.”
“Goose confirms, will fire upon your first shot.”
“Goose,” I say into the radio, “take the guy out on the right side of the house with your first shot. Confirm.”
“Goose confirms first target is the bastard at the bikes.”
I place the center dot of the reticle on the forehead of the guy holding a rifle about three feet from Will. I take a deep breath, then exhale and squeeze the trigger. Before the puff of pink explodes from the side of the bastard’s head, I’m sighting on the next bastard holding a gun. My second and third shots are racing toward the second bastard when I hear the louder unsuppressed fire from Ryan and Ted’s ARs open up. Bodies start dropping. I’m following the big bastard with the optic, but I can’t get a shot; he’s too close and moving too fast. He grabs Lizzy, and Will jumps on his back. One of the other bastards close to Will is drawing his pistol. I shift aim an
d put three rounds into his chest. The bastards are gaining their rifles now and starting to return fire, but they’re confused and don’t know where to shoot. Will has the big bastard in a chokehold.
Yes, put him to sleep, Will! But the guy is too strong. He breaks free and lands a powerful blow to the side of Will’s face that sends him to the ground. Before I can fire, the big bastard has grabbed Lizzy by the hair and starts pulling her toward the bikes, keeping her between himself and our location. Heather is trying to run, but the big biker whore still has her hair. Heather’s movement creates just enough space for me to stitch the woman with three rounds in her back. She lets go, and Heather runs for the woods. I shift aim for the bastards scrambling for the guns near Amy, but their bodies buck and go limp before I can fire. I survey the scene and see no one standing except for Heather running for the woods and the big bastard dragging Lizzy. I don’t have a clear shot and can’t shoot, but I can’t let them get to the bikes, either.
I call on the radio, “Tinman, moving forward.”
“Tinman move.”
“Tinman moving! Cover!”
The big bastard is almost at the bikes. I rise to one knee and start to stand when a sledgehammer hits me in the chest. I fall over, gasping for air. I’ve been shot! The pain is intense, and my eyes are losing focus. No! No, I can’t pass out!
Dear God, help me!
I search for blood, not finding any. I roll back behind the log as multiple bullets impact the ground where I had just been. I scan the area, looking for the shooter.
I hear Ted screaming, “Sniper upstairs!”
I bring my rifle up and empty the remaining rounds into the walls surrounding the window. Ryan and Ted are pouring rounds in as well. I jump up and run toward the bikes, each breath I take sending searing pain through my ribs. I push the magazine release button, letting the empty magazine fall to the ground, and replace it with a fresh one from my battle belt. I push the bolt release, slamming another round into the chamber, and on the run, I shoot every bastard I see moving.
I reach Will and kneel next to him. He is hurt but conscious.
“Dad!” He grabs my arm. “Dad! Lizzy! Go get Lizzy!”
I look up and see the big bastard driving off with Lizzy on a bike. I raise my AR, but I can’t take the shot for fear of hitting her. The rear tire of the bike kicks up a stream of dust as the bastard darts down the road.
Chapter 64
Jill
Where Are Lizzy and John?
Day 13
Mr. Johnathan looks surprised. “My son? What has he done other than fall in love with your daughter?”
“Actually, Johnathan, he’s done quite a bit. We’ll talk about those things later. For now, let's talk about the love part. It seems my daughter has fallen in love with your son as well, and they want to get married.”
Mr. Johnathan looks at me and smiles. He stands, steps over, and hugs me tight. “Oh my dear girl, congratulations! I pray God’s blessings upon you both.”
He sits down and looks across to my mother. “What can I do?”
I’m still speechless.
“We need you to find a preacher,” Mother says. “Soon, unless my intuition is wrong.”
“How soon?”
“How soon do you think you can find a preacher?”
A frown appears on his face. “Our pastor was out of town when the EMP hit, and we haven’t heard from him since.”
He pauses. “There is Brother Elijah Scott, Pastor at the Repose AME Church. I’m sure John would be okay with him. John has more in common with Brother Scott than our own pastor anyway. I can talk with Brother Scott. I’m certain he would be glad to do it. Would that be okay with you, Jill?”
“Yes, Johnathan, that will be fine,” my mother says before I can speak. “Can you arrange it for tomorrow at 4:00 p.m.?”
“I’ll have to talk with Brother Scott. I don’t think it will be a problem.”
Tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. It has come to setting the date and time. They are planning my wedding as if I’m not even here. I’m so intrigued with the way my mother and Mr. Johnathan are speaking that it doesn’t really bother me.
Mom straightens and places one hand on the bar and the other on her chin in thought. “Johnathan, why not let's have it at your place? In the great room. What if we only invite a few close friends? Let’s see…there will be me and you, Lizzy and Will, Brother Scott and his wife—wait, is he married?” She doesn't pause long enough for Mr. Johnathan to answer. “Maybe another eight guests…hmm. Oh, of course, Jill and John. Let’s say no more than twenty people. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course,” Mr. Johnathan responds. “Whatever you would like, Beverly. You know what we have in the pantry. Can you prepare for that many?”
“Yes, I think so,” she says. “We’ll do some finger foods.” She looks at Mr. Johnathan. “We may have to open your stores.”
Mr. Johnathan says, “I’ll trust to your judgement in this matter. Just tell me what you would like for me to do.”
Mother quickly straightens. “Good. It’s settled then. Tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. in the Wizard’s great room. Come, Johnathan, let's go. We have a lot to do.” She turns to me. “Dear, come over for lunch. Bring a list of names of those you want to invite. Not sure how we can get them here, but I know Johnathan will try.”
She goes to the door.
Mr. Johnathan is right behind her but stops in the great room. He steps over to the grandfather clock. It’s stopped. He checks his watch. “10:55. John ought to be heading home with Lizzy and Will soon.”
He winces as he reaches for the key on top of the clock, sets the time, and winds it up. “You have to wind it every week. This is one of John’s prize possessions.” He gives me the key. “Here, my dear. I don’t think I can put it back.”
I take it from him, and he heads to the door where my mother is waiting. He opens the door, and she steps out. On the porch, I watch the same thing. Mother waits at the truck, and Mr. Johnathan opens the door for her then closes it. I smile. John had a good teacher.
I go inside, close the door, and lean back on it, thinking about what I’ve just seen and heard. My wedding is tomorrow. I should be nervous, but I’m not. John and I have already pledged ourselves to each other. The wedding is for those around to be a witness. Shaking my head, I step into the great room. Everything about this room exudes strength and comfort, from the stained wood moldings to the painted wood paneling, the hardwood floor, and the fireplace wall covered in brick.
John, come home to me. Bring our children home.
The clock strikes 11:00. I drop to my knees and pray.
“Dear God, I thank You for Your hedge of protection. Thank You for making a way when no way was possible. Thank You for the courage of the man You have prepared for me. Bring him and our children home safely. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
I go into the kitchen. It’s time to make it my kitchen. I open the cabinets and see where everything is stored. Seems like good places for everything; no need to change things around. Everything in the refrigerator is at least two weeks old. The milk, tea, and juice have definitely got to go. The leftover food, too. But what do I do with it? Is there a certain place they put scraps? I’ll wait on those, but the tea and juice are going down the drain.
In the pantry, I find a box of Red Diamond tea bags, the same brand I always use. I put water in a pot and light the burner. Fresh tea will mean a lot to John when he returns. Sweet tea means a lot of different things to different people. I hope John doesn't like his too sweet. If he does, I may have to make pancakes, too. While the water is heating for the tea, I go to the bedroom. Finding empty drawers in the dresser, I unpack my clothes. Well, if pulling clothes out of garbage bags can be considered unpacking. It would be nice if there was a way to return to my house to get the rest of my things and maybe some of the furniture, especially Dad’s coffee table with the secret storage compartment. I’ll ask John about it when he returns. The grandfather clock startles me
when it dongs out a quarter after eleven.
Going to my knees, I pray again. “Dear Father, bring John home to me. Bring Lizzy and Will home. Keep our other friends safe. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
I return to the kitchen and fix the tea. Adding one scoop of sugar to a glass pitcher, I pour the hot tea water in and top it off with tap water. I can always add more sugar later if John wants it sweeter. Everything seems to be working in this house. Come to think of it, everything was working at John’s dad’s house, too. Leaving the tea on the counter to cool, I go to the bedroom and lie back on the bed. It feels good. The ceiling fan is on, and the lights are off. I close my eyes. Childhood memories flood into my subconscious thoughts.
John.
John was always there when bullies threatened me. Flashes of the fifth grade when he first came to my aid. It seems like it was only yesterday. I’m lying on the ground, crying. A boy is standing over me, laughing and taunting. Then John intervenes, and there’s a fight. John comes over and asks, “Jill, are you okay?” Again in the eighth grade, the same bully. The same face, only stronger, leaning over saying, “Jill, are you okay?” Then one more time in the Walmart parking lot. Every time he had to face Clyde, and every time there was a fight. Yet he wasn’t there in one of my great times of need years ago. But it wasn’t his fault, and I push those dark memories away deep inside, just like I have done for more than fifteen years. Yet God was able to use the evil intentions of men to do something wonderful.
The donging of the grandfather clock stirs me from my reverie. It’s twelve. John should be home soon.
I brush my hair and tie it with a red ribbon, then pick up our dirty clothes, not quite sure what to do about them. For the time being, I toss them in a corner of my closet.
I get on the ATV and crank it up. This little machine has saved mine and John’s lives. Once I make it to Mr. Johnathan’s home, I knock on the door, and he opens it.
“Hello, my dear. Come on in. Your mother made another batch of biscuits.”
The enticing aroma of the baking bread fills the air. I haven’t made biscuits in a long time. I need to get my mom to give me another lesson. Hopefully John has the ingredients. The pantry by the kitchen was substantial, but there can’t be much more than a couple of months’ worth of food there. However, with what I’ve learned of John over the past two weeks, I’m confident he’ll have some “just in case” supplies somewhere.
